


Revelations

by The_angel_that_fell



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Chronic Pain, M/M, aziraphale is an angel like always, baths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 23:15:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19451485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_angel_that_fell/pseuds/The_angel_that_fell
Summary: Crowley still feels the pain from his Fall. Aziraphale would do anything to ease it.Sometimes, just being there is enough.





	Revelations

Crowley fell, and he _burned._

Fire trailed burning fingers up every feather, turning white to scorched black, radiating first through his primaries then inwards until it felt as though each feather was being dragged out, barbed edges be damned. Pain exploded across his back and he snapped his wings out into corporeal form. They flared out, wide and black and burning, dark as smoke.

He dug his fingers into the bedspread he was knelt on, gasping as his nails turned to claws. The agony was so potent, so all-enveloping he was losing over what was corporeal and what was spiritual. A forked tongue flicked between his fangs. Silk ripped. Claws slid through it like it was butter, and pressed into his palms as he clenched his fists.

"Crowley? Dear?"

Oh, no. No. No. No, no, no. Not now. Aziraphale didn't need to see him like this, no-

"Crowley?" Footsteps coming closer. The click of his door opening.

"Get out," Crowley gritted between clenched teeth. His wings, he realised, were curled around him protectively, muscles locked. Lightning flickered inside his head. Bright and blinding and agonising. 

"Darling, what's wrong?" Aziraphale reached out a hand to touch a wing and Crowley snapped it away, realising too late it would leave him exposed. "Oh, by Heaven, Crowley-"

He knew what he looked like, but the shocked inhale of the angel made his head hang lower. His blood was dripping onto his clean sheets, courtesy of the claws currently embedded in his palms, and scales were beginning to push through his skin. He'd tried to resist the instinctive shift, leaving skin red and inflamed where it melted into smooth scales, and he'd clawed at the surrounding areas until blood came through. He hadn't wanted Aziraphale to see him like this, so purely demonic, as tortured as his soul. This could not be covered up by a smirk or a saunter or sarcasm.

"Crowley, sweetest," Aziraphale whispered, easing onto the bed beside him. Crowley snapped his head up, not sure whether to be more shocked about the fact Aziraphale hadn't gone storming out upon seeing his true demonic form, or the fact his voice was so damned gentle.

"Hurts," he gritted out. "'M sorry, you shouldn't have come-"

"Nonsense, dear." Aziraphale sat back on his heels, surveying his wrecked body with a mix of horror and pity. Crowley hated that look. Hated it. "Can I..." He reached out a hand to him, glowing with golden light.

Heavenly light. Healing light.

Crowley sucked in a ragged inhale. He didn't know whether angels could ease the pain, or would merely exacerbate it. But- he was desperate. He was hurting. He nodded.

Aziraphale's fingertips made contact with his skin, and a blessed coolness spread from his hand. 

"Please," Crowley begged, leaning into the touch. " _Please."_ It felt like ice, calming the raging fire. It burned still, but far down, distantly. He could deal with that. Not this, this pain everywhere else. "Please."

Aziraphale lifted him immediately, and Crowley turned his face inwards to nuzzle his neck. He did his best to ignore the pain caused by each shifting step, not looking up until he was being lowered. He glanced up, recognised the tub. It was filled already - must have been Aziraphale, he had no scrap of power left for miracles - and in seconds he was undressed, easing into the water, Aziraphale against his back.

His muscles went limp as the greatest part of the agony faded. The angel's arms were wrapped around his front, and he tipped his head back.

"Thank you," he breathed. Aziraphale pressed his lips to his temple.

"What's wrong?"

"It's..." Crowley paused, struggling for the right word. "It's falling. I mean, I was up there, all golden and mighty, and then I was not. Because I asked." He feels tears threatening to spill over, forces them back. "I asked Her, and I fell. And it was no agony I've felt, before or after, and then... nothing. No connection to Her. No angelic brotherhood, or sisterhood, or whatever. I burned in Hell, with Lucifer, and sometimes I can't hold it back."

He twisted a little to see Aziraphale's face. "This is what it means, being a demon," he says. "Not the torturing of souls. It's the pain. Every demon carries it. It digs so deep, into our very souls. That's why angels think we're impure. We're tainted with our pain, and what we do with it."

"I know," Aziraphale breathes. "I know. I know you're hurting, and I'm sorry I can't do anything about you. But I'd rather have you, demon or not."

Crowley twists in his arms, and kisses his lips, and feels, at every point his body touches Aziraphale's, calm. 

"I love you," he breathes. "And I'm sorry."

"I love you too, dear boy," Aziraphale answers. No hesitation, no doubt. "And never be sorry. You are what you are, and I love you."

**Author's Note:**

> WOAH what's this??? An unbeta'd oneshot probably rife with grammar issues??? it's more likely than you'd think


End file.
